


always changing

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:06:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24151027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Jaskier; he had seen him so many times over the decades, after short breaks, long breaks, and most of the time he looked the same, give or take a few small differences, and yet -- somehow he had still found a way to surprise him. He looked older, for one, which was expected but only by a bit, new wrinkles around his eyes and mouth that somehow only made him look more attractive. But that wasn't what caught Geralt's attention.His hair, usually fairly short, had grown since their last meeting. It was long enough to curl under his chin, lightly brushing his shoulders.Geralt stared for so long. He didn't know why. Hair grew; it wasn't anything special or surprising. He only looked away when Jaskier cleared his throat, tossing the hair out of his face. That was when he noticed the other difference: dark stubble lining the bard's jaw.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 386





	always changing

**Author's Note:**

> for ray! sadly they never sent me their contact info/social media but hopefully they see this <3
> 
> twitter: queermight / tumblr: korrmin

Geralt and Jaskier part ways -- it was a normal part of their routine, especially during the colder months. They usually crossed paths again once flowers began to bloom. They never set an exact date or anything, had never needed to. Their reunion this year strayed a bit from schedule. They didn't meet again until summer, the sun high in the sky, warm on their skin. When they did finally meet again, it was by accident, as were most of their reunions. 

They stumbled upon each other in the woods. Geralt was at a stream, crouched down and collecting water.

He knew it was Jaskier without even having to look because he heard him long before he saw him, humming and singing softly under his breath.

"Geralt," he greeted brightly, just a hint of surprise coloring his cheerful voice.

He grunted without looking, dipping the last of his canisters in the water. 

"How have you been, old friend?" he asked as he walked closer, crouching down next to him. Geralt still didn't look at him; he finished filling up the canister and pulled it out of the water.

Only when he stood up, water swishing in the canisters, did he finally look at him.

Jaskier; he had seen him so many times over the decades, after short breaks, long breaks, and most of the time he looked the same, give or take a few small differences, and yet -- somehow he had still found a way to surprise him. He looked older, for one, which was expected but only by a bit, new wrinkles around his eyes and mouth that somehow only made him look more attractive. But that wasn't what caught Geralt's attention.

His hair, usually fairly short, had grown since their last meeting. It was long enough to curl under his chin, lightly brushing his shoulders.

Geralt stared for so long. He didn't know why. Hair grew; it wasn't anything special or surprising. He only looked away when Jaskier cleared his throat, tossing the hair out of his face. That was when he noticed the other difference: dark stubble lining the bard's jaw.

Geralt's stomach turned over. It was an odd feeling, unlike when he was sick, uncomfortable but -- not _bad_. Kind of nice.

"It's been too long," Jaskier said brightly. "I've missed you," he said, genuine in that way Geralt had always -- secretly -- admired.

He nodded, wondering suddenly what Jaskier's stubble would feel like under his fingertips. He quickly shook his head, mouth twisting. "Well, here I am," he said dryly, extending his arms.

Jaskier just smiled, tilting his head, hair falling over in his face. Geralt's fingers twitched with the urge to just -- reach out and fix it. He didn't. 

"There you are," he said softly.

*

Jaskier predictably followed him. It was part of the routine, and he was hardly disappointed with the development. While he still wasn't very vocal about it -- words would never come easily to him -- he quite enjoyed the bard's company nowadays. They had grown closer over the years and he truly did consider him his closest, oldest friend, especially of the human variety. 

He knew him well, knew every little quirk and habit of his, knew how to read his expressions. (Not that they were very hard to read; Jaskier always had, and always would, wear his heart on his sleeve, for better or worse.)

Nothing -- he had thought -- could surprise him anymore. He had been wrong.

As they traveled together, like they had so many times before, he couldn't take his eyes off Jaskier. 

His hair, his stubble -- he looked so different, but still the same. He looked older with it, but in a good way, more refined and yet at the same time he looked more boyish in other ways, the hair giving the illusion of youth.

Jaskier walked ahead of him, strumming his lute, humming. His hair blew in the wind, wild and untamed. Geralt smiled slightly.

"Why the sudden change in appearance?" he asked finally, aiming for casual. 

Jaskier turned, walking backwards. "Hmm?" Then -- "Oh, you mean the hair and such?" He sighed, tilting his head back and forth. A strand of hair was stuck to the corner of his mouth. Geralt stared at it. "Laziness, mostly. I kept putting off seeing a barber and eventually, well, decided why not keep at it?"

Geralt nodded, though he was only half-listening. Jaskier finally reached up, pulling the hair away from his mouth. 

"I have saved a fortune," he said proudly. "And I kind of pull it off, don't you think?"

Geralt's eyes flickered away. His only reply was a grunt.

*

A few days later and the interest had weaned, some, or so he thought. Until they were bathing together in a stream, as they were ought to do. Jaskier had taken to washing his back over the last few years. Geralt had never asked him to do it, and still didn't, but he wasn't complaining; it felt nice. 

"Sit, sit," he said, dragging him over to a rock. 

Geralt snorted, eyes bright with amusement, as he sat. Jaskier washed his back with a rag, gentle but firm, scrubbing away weeks of dirt he struggled to reach on his own. 

He was relaxed, unusually so, when Jaskier declared he was finished. After months of tension, it was like he had just been blessed by the Gods. Maybe that was why he felt confident enough to ask --

"Want me to wash your hair?"

He barely even realized the words had left his mouth until Jaskier smiled down at him, an odd quirk to his lips. "Sure."

A few seconds later, roles reversed, Geralt stood over Jaskier, hands shaking as he stared at the back of his head, the gentle curls of brown hair.

He was just returning a favor. Nothing more. 

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he used one of the canisters to collect water, pouring it over his head. Just once at first. Grabbing the soap, he rubbed it between his palms, creating a lather.

Jaskier sighed softly, tilting his head back, eyelashes fluttering. Geralt bit the inside of his cheek and reached forward, burying his hands in the silky hair.

Unfairly silky, soft even after days of traveling without washing it.

He scratched lightly at his scalp, ran his fingers down and through the strands of hair. Jaskier started to purr in the middle of it. Geralt wondered if he realized he was even doing it. 

Geralt's eyes flickered to his jaw, relaxed, mouth slightly open. The dark stubble was a stark contrast against the milky white of his skin. 

"How have I never asked you to do this before?" he mumbled. "This feels better than _sex_."

Geralt's fingers stilled in his hair for just a second, blinking, before he continued, mouth twisting. There was a heaviness in the pit of his stomach that he knew, but he couldn't understand why it was there. The last time he felt something like it was a long time ago, with Yennefer; they had been in bed together, Yennefer staring up at him with dark eyes.

He hadn't felt it since. Hadn't gone looking for it.

When he drifted back to reality, he noticed Jaskier had opened his eyes and was staring at him. His mouth was curled in amusement. The wrinkles around the corners of his mouth -- and his eyes -- should've been unattractive, but they weren't. Yennefer would've certainly thought so, but not him.

It reminded Geralt that he was human. That he didn't have long on his earth but he chose - again and again - to spend what limited time he had with Geralt. Not by force, but choice.

"I'm not complaining," he said slowly, "because this feels amazing, but are you okay?" At Geralt's blank stare, his smile just widened. "You kind of blacked out there."

Geralt nodded curtly. "Close your eyes," he said gruffly. Jaskier obeyed with missing a beat. Because he trusted him. Geralt still struggled to accept that. For so long no human had trusted him. Even now, even with the help of Jaskier's ballads, very few humans would be brave enough to close their eyes in front of him, head tilted back with their neck on display.

He swallowed thickly and refilled the canister, rinsing the soap out. The suds traveled down Jaskier's exposed back, smooth with a few freckles. Geralt knew where each of them were. Had memorized them -- naturally -- over so many years of bathing together, sometimes even sleeping together if they were in the woods and it was too cold for Jaskier.

"Okay," he said roughly. "Done."

*

A few weeks later, they arrived in a small town together. Jaskier's hair had grown more over the weeks, nearing the length of Geralt's hair. 

Geralt was offered a job and was surprised when Jaskier didn't ask to accompany him. 

"I'll be here," he said brightly. "Be safe."

Nodding, he left. He slayed the beast, easily enough, and returned later that night. Jaskier was waiting for him in the room they had booked at the local inn. Geralt's eyes were drawn to his hair.

"Your hair," he said without even meaning to. It was back to the length it had been when they had first met. His face had also been shaved, soft and smooth.

Jaskier smiled almost sheepishly. "It was getting kind of long, huh?" He shrugged. "I thought it was time I finally visited a barber again."

Geralt had no right to be disappointed. It wasn't his hair, and they weren't dating. And even if they were, it still wouldn't be his place. But he still stumbled forward, dropping his bag. "I liked it," he blurted, words spilling out on their own, too honest.

Jaskier's eyes widened, just a little. Geralt swallowed around the lump in his throat. His head throbbed from the fight. He didn't care.

"You did?" he asked, squinting. "Why didn't you say so?"

Geralt nearly laughed. "Do you really have to ask?"

Jaskier smiled, eyes crinkling. "Well," he said. "Luckily hair grows back."

"You don't -- " Geralt cut himself off, jaw clenching. Jaskier scooted over on the bed, a silent invitation. He hesitated at first, that weird feeling back, before finally approaching the bed, sitting heavily. "You don't have to grow your hair out for me," he said gruffly. It was a weird thing to even have to say. 

Jaskier wiggled closer. His body was warm, like a fire burning next to him. "I know," he said. "But I want to."

Geralt stared at him. He was smiling like he knew something he didn't, eyes sparkling. "Okay," he said roughly. Right, well, if that was what Jaskier wanted to, he wouldn't stop him.

*

Jaskier wasn't joking. Over their next few months together, he never cut his hair again. Geralt was able to see -- firsthand, now -- the stages of growth. There was an awkward phase for the first few weeks; longer than before but still too short to do much with.

After that, however, his hair fixed itself, evening and smoothing out. Geralt had taken to washing his hair, like he washed his back. A fair exchange.

Jaskier started trying different styles; buns and ponytails and even braids. 

One morning he returned with flowers, yellow and bright, tucked in his braids. "What do you think?" he asked, posing with flair, hands on his hips.

Geralt just snorted, mouth twisted in amusement. "Prefer it down," he said after a moment. The different styles were nice, sure, but he preferred his hair down, framing his face, brushing his shoulders.

“Huh,” was Jaskier’s only reply.

*

Jaskier didn’t put his hair up again, even as he complained about it. Geralt just rolled his eyes. “You can cut it if it’s really bothering you so much,” he reminded him.

But he looked at him like he had just suggested the craziest thing ever. “Uh, no,” he said after a beat. Geralt waited, expecting more but he just looked away.

His eyes flickered to his jaw, to the stubble that had grown back, dark and coarse. Geralt wondered, now, what his stubble would feel like under his lips. He froze suddenly, kicking up dirt.

Jaskier turned. Roach snorted; this particular horse had never liked stopping suddenly.

“Geralt?” he prompted, a worried crease between his eyes. “Are you okay?”

He cleared his throat, hard, and started walking again. “Nothing,” he said stiffly. “Just -- thinking,” he said gruffly, which wasn’t exactly untrue. Jaskier hesitated for a moment before following. Geralt’s eyes kept being drawn back to his mouth all day.

Fuck.

*

Geralt had a problem. All it had taken was Jaskier growing out his hair _and_ \-- no, that’s not exactly true. Now he realized, with some foresight, that his attraction to Jaskier had started a long time ago. He simply hadn’t been able to place it for a while, brushing it off as nothing.

But now he knew what it was and it was terrifying. Not because of the attraction, really, because the thing was… that would’ve been _easy_ to solve.

He _knew_ Jaskier liked men, based on their shared experiences at brothels.

If it was just that, he could’ve slept with him and been done with it. He knew Jaskier’s type; big and burly. Surely he wouldn’t have turned him down unless it had something to do with not wanting to ruin their relationship.

But it wouldn’t do that, not if it was just some charged mutual attraction. They could fuck it out. Literally.

The issue was that --

Geralt wasn’t just attracted to him. He didn’t just want to bed him and be done with it. He wanted to bed him and cuddle after. He wanted to cook breakfast for them the morning after. He wanted to hold him for hours at night.

He hadn’t even felt that way for Yennefer, not quite. He had loved her in his own way, of course, but it hadn’t been so terrifyingly _domestic_. He never dreamed of settling down with her. Maybe because he knew that would never happen.

But Jaskier. _Jaskier_ had brought that up a few years ago, sitting under the sun in the early morning.

“Do you think you’ll really never stop?” he had asked, looking over at him. “That you’ll just keep doing this until you finally drop dead?”

At the time Jaskier hadn’t had long hair, obviously. He had looked the same as always, smoothed-faced with short brown hair and yet Geralt’s stomach had still lurched, unsettling him. Geralt had ignored it. He was good at ignoring the things he wanted to.

“What else would I do?” he replied gruffly.

Jaskier smiled a little, looking away. “I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “Is settling down really not an option?”

Geralt hadn’t known what to say to that. He ended up saying nothing. Because the thing was, it wasn’t _not_ an option. He had never heard of a witcher settling down, sure, but it wasn’t like they _couldn’t_. They could do what they wanted. It just seemed out of reach, the idea of settling down, warm and cozy, like they _weren’t_ mutants shunned by most of society.

And now --

He looked at Jaskier, his hair whipping his cheeks, and he couldn’t help imaging what settling down with _him_ would be like.

Maybe he would never stop hunting. It didn’t seem like something he could do; it was ingrained so deeply in his bones. But maybe, for a few months out of the year, he could take a break and instead of going back to Kaer Morhen, he could stay somewhere with Jaskier.

Jaskier laughed, startling him out of his thoughts. He arched an eyebrow at him, silent and questioning.

“Nothing, nothing,” he said from up ahead, grinning. “Just -- you had a stupid expression on your face.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. Should’ve expected no less. “Shut up,” he grumbled fondly as he tugged on Roach’s reins and sped up.

Jaskier stuck his tongue out at him before returning to his lute, strumming lazily. The sun was warm on his skin. Jaskier’s playing was a soothing background noise. He watched him, the way his hair tickled the back of his neck. The curve of his jaw, accented by the dark stubble. Geralt sighed softly. He wanted him. He had for a long time.

But was it worth it? Could he risk losing what they had? The only person he truly considered a friend, through thick and thin?

*

“Wash my hair again?”

Geralt looked over at Jaskier. He pointedly kept his eyes from wandering down. “Sure,” he said without missing a beat. He grabbed the canister and soap and -- when he turned back around -- Jaskier was already sitting on a rock. It had been almost a week since his startling revelation. They had stopped in a town between then and now but now they were back on the road, no real destination in mind.

He walked over, splashing through the water, and filled the canister.

Jaskier hummed softly as he poured the water over his head, hair darkening from the water. Geralt dropped the canister and rubbed the soap between his palms.

Then he buried his hands in his hair for the first time since his revelation and it was --

It was almost _too much_. Geralt swallowed thickly. He scratched lightly at his scalp. Jaskier tilted his head back, back, exposing his neck. He _trusted_ him. He was _beautiful_. Geralt swallowed again.

He barely even realized he had froze, eyes dark and unfocused, until Jaskier opened his eyes, staring up at him with a hint of concern and -- something _else_ , something he couldn’t quite put of his finger on. “Geralt?”

Geralt’s fingers twitched in his hair. He _wanted_. He wanted every part of him more than he had ever wanted anything. He could barely _breathe_.

“Geralt,” he repeated, a little firmer as he slipped out from under his hands, twisting around, one knee on the rock as he leaned forward. “Are you okay?”

He wanted to say _yes_ , like he always did, but the word caught painfully in the back of his throat.

“ _Jaskier_ ,” he said, almost pained. Jaskier’s eyes flickered all over his face, searching and worried. He was worried about _him_. Geralt reached out suddenly, placing both hands on his shoulders. Jaskier didn’t even startle at his touch.

Jaskier’s hair brushed his knuckles, long and stringy from the water. He wanted -- _fuck_ , he didn’t even know. Words weren’t enough.

“Are you okay?” he repeated, even as his eyes flickered to Geralt’s mouth, lingering there.

Geralt didn’t dare hope. He hadn’t hoped in a long time. “I shouldn’t do this,” he said, not bothering to give any context. He felt kind of like he was floating.

He would rather die than lose Jaskier. Sure, he knew he would lose him one day -- such was being human -- but that wouldn’t be by _choice_. There was a very _painful_ difference. But he wasn’t sure he could keep doing this. It was too much.

He had never felt like this before. Like he could lose everything and still be happy, as long as he had _him_.

“You never know,” Jaskier said softly, drawing him out of his thoughts, “if you don’t try.”

Geralt blinked, staring into his eyes. His eyes were darker, now, like the bottom of the ocean, nearly black but still with a hint of blue.

“This is your fault,” he said with no real heat.

Jaskier’s mouth quirked, the corners curling. “Really?”

Geralt barely even registered that he had replied, a loud rushing in his ears. “If you had never grown out your damned _hair_ \-- ” he growled, but that wasn’t true and he knew it. His feelings for him were so much more than that, had existed for so long.

Without a word, he reached up and took one of Geralt’s hands, pulling it around to the back of his head. Geralt’s fingers instinctively curled in his hair.

“Do it,” Jaskier said lowly.

Geralt wondered if this was real. Or if it was a dream, a detailed illusion or even a spell because -- Jaskier _didn’t_ , right? But if it was a dream, or any of those things, he wasn’t going to waste it. Lurching forward, water splashing around his ankles, he kissed him.

It wasn’t very romantic, or sweet, it was messy, charged with so many _emotions_ , suppressed for too long.

Jaskier groaned against his mouth, snaking his arms around his neck and tugging him closer. The rock was wedged between them, unfortunately, so they could only press so close. Geralt reached down, placing his hands on his hips.

When they separated, Geralt just stared, speechless. Jaskier’s lips were pink and swollen. Fuck, _he_ did that.

“Is this a dream?” he asked lamely.

Jaskier grinned, a bit cheeky. “If it _was_ ,” he replied, “how would asking _me_ help?”

Geralt knew it was real based on that alone. He could never conjure up such a realistic portrayal of the bard. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Since when -- ”

“Since nearly forever,” Jaskier interrupted, nearly purring, catlike in his movements as he moved off the rock, circling around it. Geralt was stiff, but not in a bad way, just -- confused and nervous, on edge. Jaskier smiled, eyes sparkly, placing a hand on Geralt’s chest, over his heart. “Did you not question why I was so quick to grow my hair out again?”

Geralt stared at him, unblinking. “I -- _no?”_

“Would you _usually_ grow your hair out for a friend?” he continued, pressing closer. “I’ll answer for you: no. But I thought maybe I was onto something. That if I did this, you would finally _do_ something.”

Geralt’s brain took a moment to comprehend the words. “Wait,” he said roughly. “ _Finally?_ ”

Jaskier’s eyes sparkled still, like the water around their ankles, kissing the very corner of his mouth. “I wasn’t sure,” he said against his lips, their breath mixing, “but I was _hoping_ you felt the same way.”

He was speechless, and rightfully so. He had stressed about this, about what to do, when Jaskier had _known_ \-- or at the very least suspected -- the whole time. It was almost humorous and that was why he ended up barking out a laugh, chest rumbling.

Jaskier’s eyes widened a bit but he was still grinning. “What?”

“Nothing,” he replied, slipping his arms back around his waist, tugging him closer -- if that was even possible. “Just thinking about how stupid I am,” he added dryly.

Jaskier let out a soft laugh of his own. “Stupid, but _endearing_ ,” he said with a wink.

*

Later, curled together in a bed at an inn, Geralt couldn’t stop playing with Jaskier’s hair. It was feather-soft between his fingers. “You don’t have to keep it long,” he said gruffly into the darkness of the room. It had been a couple days since that morning in the stream; they had traveled to a small town within those days, renting a room for a few nights.

Not for long, but just long enough to relax for a bit, bask in the revelation that they felt the _same_ about each other.

Jaskier sighed, rolling over. Geralt could easily see him even in the dark, his long hair cascading over the pillow, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.

“I kind of like it,” he said, wiggling closer.

He sounded genuine, so Geralt wasn’t going to push it. Closing his eyes, he buried his face in his hair, scenting him without even realizing it. Jaskier always smelled unexpectedly -- _spicy_ , like cinnamon. It was his favorite smell in the world, replacing what had once been lilac and gooseberries.


End file.
